Brenda Matthews lived on the tenth floor and Jane knew before she even pressed the lift button that it would be out of order — probably not through any mechanical fault, but deliberate damage caused by some of the many young criminals and hooligans who lived on the estate. Jane, like so many of the unfortunate residents, had no choice other than walking up the stairs.
She was breathing heavily when she reached the tenth floor, and thanked her lucky stars Mrs. Matthews didn’t live on the eighteenth. She waited a few moments to get her breath back, then knocked on the flat door. It was instantly opened by a small woman in her mid to late fifties. She wore glasses, had short wavy hair with a few grey streaks, and was casually dressed in a brown shirt, brown and white checked knee-length skirt, with a white apron over it and slippers. But what Jane noticed most was the tremor in hands and the distraught look on her face.
She also immediately saw a strong resemblance to the unknown victim.
‘Brenda Matthews?’ Jane asked as she showed her warrant card and the woman nodded. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Tennison. I’ve come about the call you made to the incident room regarding your daughter, Helen. Can I come in and speak to you?’
‘Are you investigating them murders in Peckham?’
Jane didn’t answer. She could see Mrs. Matthews was unsteady on her feet, so took her gently by the arm and helped her onto the settee. The living room in the small two-bedroom flat was neat and tidy, though sparsely furnished, with just the settee, an armchair, side dresser in one corner and a small dining table pushed up against the wall, along with three wooden chairs. In another corner of the room there was a small cardboard box overflowing with Dinky and Corgi toy cars, some Action Man dolls and accessories.
Jane got Mrs. Matthews a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to her. Once Brenda had taken a few sips, Jane sat next to her on the settee and noticed an old wedding picture on the wall.
‘Is your husband at work, Brenda?’
‘I’m a widow. He died some years ago in a car accident.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I can imagine this is very distressing for you, Brenda, but can I ask why you called the incident room?’
Mrs. Matthews’ lower lip trembled, and she began to cry. ‘I’d been out shopping for groceries and bumped into my neighbor on the landing. She’d watched the lunchtime news about the murders in Peckham and said a drawing of one of the victim’s looked just like... my Helen.’ She paused to wipe her eyes. ‘I’d seen in Monday’s paper about them two women who was murdered in Peckham, but it didn’t say no names.’ She turned to Jane with a pleading look. ‘I’m scared, so scared... Please tell me it’s not my Helen.’
Jane felt desperate for her, but couldn’t help wondering, if it was Helen, why she hadn’t reported her daughter missing earlier. She decided, rather than prolonging the agony asking painful questions about Helen, to resolve the situation in a more direct way.
‘Do you have a photo of Helen I can look at?’
Mrs. Matthews pointed to a picture on a wooden side dresser. ‘There’s one of her with my grandson Simon at the fun fair. He’d just turned nine.’
Mrs. Matthews began to rock back and forth, clutching her hands together below her chin, as if praying for Helen’s safety. Jane realized the box of toys in the corner must be Simon’s. She got up to look closely at the photograph. It was a poor quality black and white picture, taken from a distance, which made it hard to be certain if the victim was Helen.
‘Please, God, officer, tell me it’s not my Helen,’ Mrs. Matthews sobbed.
Jane could see Brenda was in shock and she really didn’t want to take her to the mortuary to view the body in case it wasn’t her daughter.
She crouched down in front of her. ‘It’s hard to say from that photo. Do you have another picture, a close-up, perhaps?’
Mrs. Matthews pointed to the chest of drawers. ‘There’s some photos in the top drawer. One of them is her and Simon in one of them Woolworths photo booths what takes pictures of you.’
Jane opened the drawer and immediately saw an A4-size school photograph. Sat in the middle of the children was a smiling Eileen Summers. It was the same picture Mrs. Rowlands had shown Jane when she first visited the school. Jane’s heart raced as she rummaged through the drawer. She found the black and white passport-sized photo booth picture of Helen and Simon, who was sitting on his mother’s lap, with his arms around her neck. Jane held it next to the school photo and could see Simon sitting on the floor in front of Miss Summers.
There could be no doubt anymore: Helen Matthews was the killer’s first victim, and there was now a definite connection between her and Eileen Summers. Mrs. Matthews could tell from the somber look on Jane’s face that her worst fears were true.
‘The dead girl’s my Helen, isn’t it?’
Jane nodded, unable to find any consoling words.
Mrs. Matthews began rocking back and forth on the settee, holding her arms tightly around herself. She realized that Brenda had no idea Eileen Summers had been murdered, and thought it best not to tell her yet.
Jane sat down next to her on the settee and held her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, but I will need you to formally identify Helen at the mortuary. I will be there with you, but we don’t have to do it right away. My main concern at this moment is obviously for you and Simon. Is he at school just now?’
Helen nodded as she continued to rock back and forwards, her eyes still filled with tears.
‘We will also need to notify Simon’s father.’
Mrs. Matthews shook her head. ‘Helen was a single mother and never told anyone who Simon’s father was, not even Simon. Oh dear God, how am I going to tell him his mother’s dead? I need to see Simon. Can we go to his school?’ Brenda pleaded.
‘Yes, of course. Brenda, I know you are very upset right now, but I just need to ask you a few important questions about Helen before we go and see Simon. Is that OK?’
Brenda nodded.
‘I’ll also need to search her bedroom.’
‘Helen doesn’t live here; she has a place of her own.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Number four Willbury House, on the Hilldrop estate. It’s near Tufnell Park tube station.’
Jane jotted down the address, realizing that answering questions was somehow helping Mrs. Matthews to keep from completely collapsing. ‘I don’t mean to pry, Brenda, but does Simon live with you?’
‘Sometimes. But it’s just so Helen can go out and work. She’s a cleaner, you see. It’s hard for her to earn money when Simon’s not at school. During the school holidays he spends most of the time with me. He’s been with me over the half term.’
Jane was a little confused about the arrangements concerning Simon, as she knew he must have returned to school on the Monday just gone.
‘I take it you made the arrangements about Simon before the half term started?’
‘Yes and no. We’d spoken about it beforehand but then Helen came here last Friday afternoon to see Simon.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About three thirty, I think. Helen gave me some money for looking after Simon. She said she’d been busy and doing lots of extra hours cleaning.’
‘Are you looking after Simon this week as well?’
‘Well, I didn’t think so, but then again I wasn’t sure, cos I thought Helen said she’d collect him from me on the Monday evening after school. When she didn’t, I thought maybe Helen said she’d pick him up on the Tuesday from mine after school, but again she didn’t. I was a bit annoyed with her, to be honest, and neither of us has a phone, so after I dropped Simon at school this morning, I went to her flat to see what she was playing at, but she wasn’t there.’ Mrs. Matthews started to cry again at the realization her daughter was already dead when she went to the flat.